The extreme medic: a smooth Antarctic landing

The engines of the huge Russian Ilyusion IL76 jet fire up. We are sitting like a parachute regiment in inward-facing seats on the side of the craft staring at a blue container that will be the new operations box on the ice. The brakes remain engaged as the power increases and finally we are released. We surge forwards along the runway and fly into the air for a surprisingly pleasant flight with a professional and courteous Russian crew.

We slip slowly towards 24-hour sunlight. As we cross the Ronne ice shelf, the sky clears and I see large icebergs broken up by blue water before a mass of white, like a blanket, rolling up towards some hills and onto the Antarctic continent. I feel a slight shiver at seeing this, the blue contrasting the white. I catch my breath. Surely this is something you only see in books or documentaries?

'Surely this is something you only see in documentaries?'

An hour before touchdown the warm air blower beneath my feet changes to cool and then cold, and we are given the orders to gather our kit and change into warm clothes. I look left and right trying to work out how many layers to put on. Should I wear my goggles or should I keep the sunglasses on? Balaclava or not? Before I make up my mind we are ordered into our seats for landing. Seat belt fastened, we start our descent. I start warming up and sweating from wearing too many layers.

The Ilusyion is a huge jet aircraft capable of quick journeys, landing on poor runways and carrying huge loads. It requires a relatively stable surface to land on. The blue ice runway, ice that remains uncovered on a glacier, is a perfect landing spot. The landing goes well, smoother than most conventional runways I have landed on.

As the doors open I catch my first glimpse of Antarctica from ground level. The light reflects off the blue ice runway and mountain climbs in the distance. Then a woman with a smiling face walks towards me and gives me a hug. This is my colleague on the ice, Deirdre, a rural GP from Skye, who has been on the ice for 10 days. We talk and then I get directed into a huge blue van and driven to camp. I had no idea what to expect. It is gusting at the runway and the temperature is around -20C, but this was a dry cold, not like what we experience in the Northern Hemisphere. Different. Clean. At the camp there is a little breeze and it feels warm in comparison, around -5C.

Robert Conway, who is now settling in for the Antarctic summer

The new arrivals are ushered into the dining tent and we are fed a nice warm stew (named Ilyusion stew after the aircraft) before we hear a noise overhead. The aircraft is leaving and we are finally left here alone on the ice with no one around for miles, just us. The camp set up is larger than I thought, reaching a near industrial scale. It has dining areas, stores, operations and mechanic tents. There are multiple mountain tents for staff and larger clam tents for clients. The medical tent is centrally located and holds the majority of medical supplies. On first impressions I think it can house up to three patients at a time.

This first day is a blur of briefings and meeting new people. I unpack my kit and dig a vestibule in my tent’s porch to make life at 6ft 3in in a small mountain tent a little easier. Then I'm off to bed. But what time is it? I forget. Given the 24-hour sunlight, the work day appears to go on and on. As I crawl into bed and blow up the therma-rest, my sleeping bag seems to have expanded slightly. I slip on my dark turtle neck to keep my ears warm and try to get some sleep, wondering what adventures the next few days will hold.